What Hermione Doesn't Know
by sittingpretty
Summary: At the end of Sixth Year, Hermione and Draco begin to forge a friendship. But Lucius discovers their bond, and will do anything to destroy it.


The House Elves at Malfoy Manor always cleaned young Malfoy's desk. He hardly used it, but the mere thought of one of his possessions covered in a sprinkling of dust disagreed with his neat freakish tendencies, and usually sent him into spastic fits of yelling. Everything had to be clean, even if it was pushed in a corner and completely unused.

It was ridiculous how much the servants' lives depended on dusting.

One year, though, something strange happened. In the springtime, Draco's letters home became less whiney and more mature. When he returned for the summer holidays, the boy appeared to have gained some sort of interest in the desk and even snapped at the House Elves when they tried to clean it or sort through his papers.

When he returned to Hogwarts in the autumn, Lucius and Narcissa didn't receive anything from Draco at all, except one, quickly written letter requesting his desk be brought to school for "academic purposes."

That year was so amazingly, thankfully and horribly unlike the others.

* * *

Hermione looked contentedly out her dormitory window at the trees being stripped of their magnificent leaves, watching them fall to blanket the Hogwarts grounds. The combination of the yellows, reds, oranges and browns instantly gave her a craving for a good book and a mug of something hot.

'Or something to write,' Hermione added as an afterthought. She looked down at the piece of paper in front of her and made a lame attempt.

"_You asked where I live_."

She looked around the Gryffindor Girls' Dormitory. Though she was Head Girl, she did not get her own special quarters. All she had was a little gold plaque on her four-poster describing her status, no escape from Lavender or Parvati or their late-night squeal-fests. Closing her eyes, Hermione tried to envision her real home.

"_It's quite small, honestly. But it's on a bit of a hill, and we have a nice view of the countryside. It's beautiful. You might like it, though as far as I've been able to tell, big, scary castles are more your personal preference. _

"You're surprised that I don't live in a beaver dam, aren't you?"

Draco smiled when he read her letter.

* * *

The leaves had long fallen off their perches in the sky when Draco returned home for the Christmas holidays.

As he had expected, Lucius gave Draco the silent treatment for not owling him about how much of a git Harry was and how many points Snape had unfairly given to Slytherin. Narcissa welcomed her son home with a hug and a new watch; Lucius only inclined his head slightly. Narcissa, who apparently had a lot to say about her gold-digger friends, dominated dinner conversations, unlike Lucius, who seemed to have run out of things to say about how much influence he held over the wizarding world. Even when Draco charged a thousand-something-Galleon cloak to his father's name, Lucius did not speak. He only eyed his son warily.

But one night he burst into Draco's room, his face wild with suspicion and rage.

"Who are you writing to?"

Draco crumpled up the letter he had been composing to Hermione.

"It's that Muggle girl, isn't it?"

Draco tried to assess the situation and decide which course of action to take. But Lucius exploded.

"YOU ARE MY SON! YOU ARE ON YOUR WAY TO BECOMING A DEATH EATER! YOU DO NOT WRITE LETTERS TO _MUGGLES_!"

Lucius deftly swiped the letter off of Draco's desk and skimmed over the words. His eyes bulged as he read the bottom; he let out a furious roar and set the paper on fire with his wand. Then he turned and stormed out of the room.

Draco quickly extinguished the flames with a counter curse and unfolded the paper. He read it over and over, but couldn't see anything wrong with the letter.

* * *

The next night, Lucius knocked on Draco's door with a Portkey in hand. He was remarkably calm when he said, "Here, son."

Draco, in an attempt to keep his father composed, didn't ask where he was going; he grabbed a hold on the old glove and was jolted out of his room.

They landed in a field. Draco's feet were knocked out from under him and he opened his mouth to yell out indignantly, but then he noticed that he was surrounded by Death Eaters.

The tallest figure in the middle stepped forward. "Welcome, young Mister Malfoy," the Dark Lord said. "I have brought you here because your father has alerted me to your little _correspondence_."

The circle of Death Eaters closed in around him and Draco numbly realized what was happening.

Voldemort aimed his wand and shouted a curse. It was pointed at Draco's chest, but the spell attacked every part of his body. His scalp stung and his legs kicked furiously; it felt like they were on fire. His hands balled into fists and somewhere in between the roaring wind and his own screams, he heard Lord Voldemort yell, "MUDBLOODS ARE FILTH! THEY SHOULD BE TREATED AS SUCH! YOU TARNISH YOUR NAME AND YOUR BLOODLINE BY CONSORTING WITH THEM!"

It was over, eventually.

* * *

"There, Lucius. I think I have made an impression on the boy."

Draco felt the spell leave him and although the pain remained, it lost its intensity. Draco exhaled in relief, turning over, pressing his cheek against the cool earth.

"Indeed, my Lord," Lucius murmured, staring at his son on the ground with a dazed look on his face, "Thank you."

"Your son will receive the Dark Mark immediately following his graduation from Hogwarts along with several other classmates." He nodded towards Crabbe and Goyle. "I hope that you will further the disciplining of the boy, Lucius. He needs it." Voldemort looked down at Draco, who lay curled in the fetal position, his robes wrapped tightly around himself. He sneered. "Associating with Muggles. I would have never imagined your son to turn out this way, Lucius. Perhaps our little plan will persuade him back to his old ways."

Lucius bowed to Lord Voldemort and hurriedly dragged Draco out of the center of the circle. Draco felt his head knock against a rock and as his eyes fluttered shut, he wished he had blacked out ages ago.

* * *

In the dark of the following night the mob moved quietly. Wind blew around their solemn black robes as they marched toward the little house. Moonlight illuminated both the newly fallen snow and the men's masked faces.

The man at the front turned to face the others. Most of the Death Eaters were present; after all, it had been a long time since they had had the opportunity to murder an innocent Muggle family. Eagerly, they clutched their wands and grinned with anticipation.

Lucius Malfoy was smirking under his mask when he proudly gave the word and the Death Eaters descended on the small house on the hill in the countryside that was most certainly not a beaver dam.

By dusk, the green skull and snake glowed brightly.

* * *

In the Malfoy Manor, on the third floor, in the room second on the left, there was a desk.

Covered in a film of dust, the desk did not boast much, except for a nearly empty pot of ink and a quill with a worn nub. In the desk drawers, there wasn't much, either, save for a crown-shaped pin and a Chocolate Frog card or two.

But on the underside, the secret compartment, only accessible to one man, was full of sheets and sheets of parchment paper, most of which began with the header "Dear Draco", and ended with love from Hermione. The dates showed that the letters were old, but there was hardly a trace of age on any of them. Carefully preserved, the paper had not faded.  
  
The letters were all similar, save for one peculiar letter, which was written in a completely different handwriting from that of the others, and riddled with wrinkles. The edges were even a little charred, blackened from an ancient fire smothered long ago. The content of the letter was almost wholly illegible, for the paper was littered with burn holes and tiny rips. But at the bottom of the paper, amongst the crinkles and stray blotches of ink, three words had remained legible through all the years:

"_I love you_."


End file.
